


Chaos In Technicolor

by Pineapplepie



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Established Relationship, Experienced Hiro, Frottage, Hiro and Tadashi are the same age, Hiro is a Little Shit, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tadashi POV, also, dick-sword-fights, haha - Freeform, i have no life, just kidding, no dick-sword-fights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:23:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pineapplepie/pseuds/Pineapplepie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd ended up in the linen closet on the third floor of the girl's dormitory, shelves shoved against their spines, bedsheets falling onto their heads, the smell of laundry detergent mixing with muffled groans and sweat. Tadashi wasn't the type to just - do it. And they hadn't. Not really. Mostly, because he hadn't even expected Hiro to be into guys. Or anything really. Not that Hiro was the lazy type. He was just the I-was-meant-to-other-things type. Like kissing guys. Like screwing their brains out. Like loving them to the moon. Then telling them, 'Let's keep this platonic'.<br/>Hiro was crazy. Tadashi was crazy for liking it. </p><p>-</p><p>HERE, PORN. SORT OF. *SHITTY BALLERINA TWIRL*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chaos In Technicolor

**Author's Note:**

> Heyho :) this is the quick warm-up I did yesterday. Yes. I warm-up with gay porn. I never intended to post any of my oneshot stuff, but I thought 'hey, IT'S PORN', and I mean, boarding school boys make ovaries explode.  
> Hiro's a rascal. Tadashi totally digs rascals. And dicks.  
> (Not betad, and I apologize for all the - probably really obvious - mistakes you might stumble upon)

It always started with a push, a shove, a little split between his shoulder blades, just enough pain for his toes to tip over. And then he went _bam_ against a wall, or _thump_ against a mattress, or _slap_ against unwound skin. 

Hiro's skin was always unwound, the muscles underneath coming undone with each time his hands came closer, untangling, wringing out the last few ounces of tension.  Hiro was unhinged when he kissed him. Hard and long like he wanted to leave an imprint, kiss a memory onto his lips for him to recall when he layed in bed at night, thinking of this and hot, sweet friction. His friction. 

Hiro Hamada made the world ripple. 

Calloused fingers roamed his stomach, spirals and networks, scratches along the indents, pressure rising. Tadashi's breath hitched. He forced the last ounce of sleep out of his lungs, and he dipped his eyelids as Hiro curled his fingernails into his rib cage. Hiro knew he liked that. It was that feeling of being two breaths short from crumbling. He liked having something breakable in his hands.  A twitch of a wrist and Tadashi could fracture, creating an opening for Hiro to reach into his chest and take whatever he found. 

The air was getting headier by the second, and Tadashi felt like saying something in time, like 'Stop, we have study hall in half an hour, you idiot' or 'You snored so loud I couldn't sleep last night' - or just 'Good morning'. But Hiro wasn't giving him enough space to breathe. Not even a tiny pause to let him restructure his headspace. 

Hiro loved doing it in the morning, early, so early the air was still blue, heavy with the residues of another night. Sleep interrupted by sweat and eyelid flutters in the mid-July heat. The AC's on their part of the dormitory had been wiped out for a week. Hiro had been sleeping in nothing but a T-shirt. Tadashi's T-shirt. Tadashi's swim team T-shirt with Matsuno 43 on the back. Go Hammerheads. 

Hiro looked like property. Nobody was allowed to touch him. 

Hiro mumbled something incoherent, working his teeth into his throat, hard enough to pinch, leave marks. Hiro liked this, nipping his good mornings straight out of his mouth and his skin and the spaces between his muscles - as if he was trying to kiss him back to sleep. But the rising pressure in Tadashi's boxers always kept him tethered to a live wire. It was a game to Hiro. Like everything else in the world, this was a game to him, too. 

Hiro never touched him down there first. He waited, lurked, strung him out, let him dangle by a thread close to snapping. Tadashi always caved in first. Always. Without fail. Always, always, always the first. Tadashi was always the first to make a louder sound. Tadashi was always the first to go tumbling. Tadashi was always the first to shove him onto his back, pin him to the mattress and rut into him like something feral, insane, mind gone. Mind gone mad. 

Sometimes, he thought Hiro liked him like that the most. Unhinged. 

Hiro had him wound around all of his perfect little fingers. And that's all Tadashi saw when he looked at the other boy's hands, himself, tangled around his knuckles, woven into the creases of his palms, imprinted into each inch of his skin. Tadashi was right there, living in someone else's pair of hands.

Hiro's hands migrated, nails scraping along the hollows between Tadashi's ribs. Making him red. Hiro said he liked his red. His stains. Tadashi had been too horny at the time to be in the mood for decoding all the weird stuff that tumbled out of this guy's mouth. Hiro had a lot of weird stuff to say. Some of them were actually kind of fascinating. Like poetry. Like he was silent for a reason because his brain was stuffed with Hemmingway and E.E. Cummings. Tadashi didn't want anyone to find out about that beautiful brain in Hiro's head. 

Tadashi gripped into Hiro's hair, wrapped the strands around his knuckles and tugged him up towards his face. His fingers pressed into his skull, nails droning. Tadashi wanted to crack Hiro open, take a peek, take a chance, take more than Hiro gave him. Tadashi wanted to crawl in and live beside of all of his secrets. Even the sad ones, the ugly ones, the ones he never talked about. 

Hiro's lids were heavy with leftover sleep and night stars. But his eyes were awake. More than awake. Alive. Bursting. Cheap thrills in the middle of a midnight hour. Electric fractures. Zooming on an empty highway towards the cosmos. That itch of not knowing what you'd find. 

"What?" Hiro mouthed, lips smudgy swollen. He was too tired to talk. But Tadashi liked his voice right after he woke up. It scraped in a way that made him sound like he'd been screaming for hours. 

Tadashi shook his head. Hiro shook his head in time. The world swayed. Hiro hooked a hand into the curve beneath Tadashi's jaw. The tug stopped his head from moving. Hiro smelled like bedtime and slumbers, the air around him bathtub temperature warm. But there was always something tangy in there, a lemon wedge stuck between ice cubes of a heady bourbon. A tiny punch. Brings out the flavor. 

Hiro nosed along his face, tiny pecks of his lips scattered throughout. Tadashi gripped into his head harder. His boxers were straining, hips twitching and hitting nothing but humid air. No friction. Nobody to give it to him. Hiro would be the last person to do it. If it were up to him, he'd get Tadashi so wound up he'd be a twitching mess of hazy and wild, and then he'd give him nothing but a quick kiss on his forehead or his cheek, somewhere naive, somewhere harmless, and he'd slip into his uniform and stroll to class without a goodbye. He probably wouldn't even look over his shoulder. 

Tadashi knew Hiro was capable of leaving him like that. Hiro was the devil when he felt like it. He liked playing it dirty. Maybe that was why he played lacrosse. Lacrosse was for kids who liked playing it dirty. Mean. Raging. 

Tadashi had never seen the appeal, bawling through mud and other people's sweat. Mean. Raging. 

And then Hiro happened. And now, Tadashi was too selfish to let him get away. 

"Shh," Hiro pressed into his left cheekbone, fingers sliding over his arms over and over again like he was trying to calm him down, like Tadashi was the one who needed to be tamed.

Domesticated. 

Tadashi huffed out a breath. His feet dug their way into the mattress, legs angled. He could slam Hiro's hips onto his in a heartbeat. But he knew Hiro would win if he did that. Hiro always won. Always, always, always. 

Hiro was the kid with the pretty little face, smiling with that gap between his teeth, playing the whole school with nobody even close to expecting it. A born con-artist. He hung out with the kids that walked through the halls with tilted heads and the same brand of shoes. The kids that always won at whatever they did - because they forced the world to hand them their victory on freaking silver platters and fine china trays. 

Hiro hung out with winners. 

Tadashi hung out with Fred. Fred got high in the linen closet on the third floor of the girl's dormitory. 

"Fuck, I like you like this." Hiro gasped for breath before he went plunging down, mouth hitting mouth, lips swollen, tongues wet, warm, wild. 

Tadashi needed to touch him. Really touch him. Everywhere. Skin against skin. Nothing left in-between to smother. Stuck to each other. Sewn into each other's layers. 

But Tadashi forced his hips into the mattress. He was not going to give in. 

"Cute," Hiro mushed into his mouth. "Trying hard not to try." Tadashi could feel a crooked smile pressed against his lips. He could feel the gap between Hiro's front teeth leave an indent. He really, really, loved that gap. It made him want to do horrible, horrible things to him. Horrible. Terrible. Bad things. 

"Do it." Hiro was luring him out of the dark, daring him. Hiro loved dares. He loved making people do the things they were scared of the most, the things they would do if someone were to just give them a push, a shove, a split between shoulder blades. Maybe that was a talent - scoping out leftovers, tugging them out of hiding and smacking them straight in your face. And at first, that would seem like a bad thing. But Hiro wasn't a bad person. And he wasn't good, either. He just figured people out faster than you could blink, realized what they needed most and told them to go get it. That was more than a talent. Maybe that was a gift, even, pushing people to break barriers - so they could breathe better, live better, be better. 

But when Hiro was making Tadashi sweat in bed, making his skin red and his thoughts bubbly, that's when he didn't like Hiro's gift. Hiro turned him animal. He switched his control off, blundered his structures, let his needs roam, instincts and greed. Tadashi hated being this selfish. 

He wanted to lock Hiro up and hide him away from the rest of the world. Nobody was allowed to touch him. Nobody was allowed to have him. 

"You know you want to." Hiro kept going, fingers sliding down his arms and losing their way in the ridges of his abdomen, coming dangerously close to the waistband of his pajama pants. Tadashi swallowed down a groan. It didn't sound human. It was more like a gurgle, a last twitch of the chest muscles before you drowned. 

Tadashi shook his head, whipping his neck, knees caving in. He tried to keep his eyes open. Hiro's face was tinged blue in the twilight, the curves of his face going sharper like he was collecting razors in the cuts of his features. 

Sex made him electric. 

Hiro's fingers started playing with the string looped into his waistband, tugging at it, loosening the knot. Tadashi felt like squirming away. But he stayed still, let Hiro undo what needed to be undone in that painfully slow tempo of his. Hiro liked taking his time - like he had too much of it, like he'd gotten used to having more than he needed, coming to terms with enjoying himself. Because that's how Hiro lived. Like he was never going to die. On some days, dark days, Tadashi was convinced of Hiro being immortal. He just had to be. The world wasn't meant to forget someone like him. 

Hiro was infinite. 

Hiro backed away. Tadashi's mouth tried following him, but Hiro pressed a hand into his chest, forcing him back into the mattress, a dare in his eyes.  Hiro was perched on his stomach. He was just sitting there, smiling, provoking, his pressure inches from Tadashi's hard-on. Raging hard-on. His crotch was aching, screaming, _friction, please._

Hiro's smile went crooked, twitched more to the left than to the right. His head did this thing where it tilted downwards, and his eyes dug their way into his lids and the hollows beneath his eyebrows. Hiro's face dipped in the shadows. Hiro's face fending off all source of light. He looked bad like that, risky, ready for thrills. 

"You should see yourself right now," Hiro pressed out between strained teeth. He bent forward, let his hands spread out over Tadashi's chest, weight shifting. "Jesus fuck," he breathed, words cut with a hitch. 

And then he stooped down, and he was back to kissing the crap out of him, pressing things like 'We're skipping study hall' and 'Love being a senior' into the tiny gaps between breaths. 

Because seniors didn't have to go to study hall. And Tadashi had a really, really hard time accepting that. Study hall was his Nirvana.  

"Love being super, super gay, too." Hiro smacked a big kiss onto his mouth. Squishy and candy-apple-sweet. "Gay for you." He grinned. Tadashi could taste it. 

Hiro liked wearing it like a tag, a triumph, a crown beaming on his hurricane hair. Nobody was supposed to miss it. 'Yes, I'm gay, I dig dicks'. Tadashi liked being different on a down-low. Maybe if he stayed quiet enough nobody would notice. He liked girls, too. Hiro used to make fun of him for it, saying he needed to make up his mind. They'd had a fight so big they had to be transferred to different dorms for a week. That one week had felt like dying. Seven days. 168 hours. A slow death, the kind that strung each and every one of your last nerves until you were nothing but this decaying blob of strings. One week afterward, and it had stopped. Hiro had started taking him serious. Really serious. Lingerie-serious. Pink-underwear-serious. Heart shapes and glitter and wavy hair instead of a jet-black tornado. And skirts. Freaking skirts. Skimpy and frilly skirts. Tadashi had been sure Hiro had snatched them from some cheerleader during lacrosse practice. He could picture him at the water cooler, giving her blinding smiles and stupid winks, strolling over and telling her he needed her skirt to woo a dork. 

Girls liked that kind of stuff, guy-on-guy stuff, gulped it down like sticky pink 7-Eleven slurpees mixed with alcohol. She'd probably asked him if she could watch. Hiro had probably said yes. Just because. He was bad like that. Tadashi knew he was bad like that. He'd scoped their room for tiny nanny cams. And Hiro had been sitting there on his bed with a skirt pooled around his ankles, and they'd fought for an hour straight, until Hiro had smacked a pillow against his face, shouting that he was really, really trying, because he was afraid of losing him - to seven billion people, instead of just three billion or four. He'd said it was scary. Tadashi liking girls, too, was scary. 

Tadashi had kissed him so hard his mouth had been sore for days. 

Hiro had moments like that. These blips in time where his pride cracked and his walls tumbled, and you could take a peek at everything inside. Naked. Bare to the bone. And when he was honest, Tadashi knew how hard it got for him to just breathe. He'd hyperventilate, his little jackrabbit-heart going thump, thump, thump. And the faster his heart rate, the more he let slip. He spilled over. He showed you his everything for a few beats. 

Hiro's everything was voltage. Hiro's everything was beautiful. 

Tadashi lifted a hand. Hiro's eyelids twitched, body tensing like he was expecting Tadashi to surge forward and slam him against the mattress. And just fuck him. 

But Tadashi's fingers curled, just a bit, like he was holding something fragile, and he brushed his knuckles along the range of Hiro's cheek. He was cool there. A layer of cool covering something hot.  Hiro's eyelids batted a beat. There was this tug in his eyebrows that made him look confused, pupils flicking over his face, looking for answers to questions Tadashi couldn't hear. 

Tadashi slid a hand into the dip at the base of Hiro's back. The space was small, hollowed out like Tadashi was meant to have his hand there. To keep him steady. To keep him balanced.

He lifted himself from the mattress, pulling himself up so their chests met in the verticals, foreheads bumping, hips aligning, warm pools of friction. Hiro's throat bobbed. He was still looking at him, but they were so close they could only look into each other. Instead of at. Instead of through.  Hiro's face melted into a blur, everything crossing their borders, smudged, wiped one too many times. Tadashi could feel their breaths in their mouthes, air from two lungs colliding. 

Tadashi didn't shift after that. He didn't move. He wasn't going to snap. Not now. This was a balance of everything right in the world. 

Hiro and bedtime air. Hiro and six AM. Hiro and all the warmth spilling over. 

Hiro's hands curled their way into Tadashi's T-shirt. Holding on tight. 

And Tadashi remembered that winter break a year ago, where they'd both decided to stay at school so they could spend it together without having to explain their relationship to any confused, google-eyed relatives. Mostly, because they hadn't really known how to explain something they hadn't understood. Still didn't. And they'd spent two whole weeks in bed with nothing on. And Tadashi remembered Hiro kissing his throat raw, mumbling things like 'You need me. I'm the kid who's supposed to break your head, scramble your brain'. And Tadashi hadn't known what that meant, and he'd laughed, and he'd asked, 'And what am I?', and Hiro's eyes had made the world stop, and he'd said, 'Everything.' He'd said it like it had made sense. But it hadn't. Not at the time. 

Maybe not even now. But when Hiro tugged Tadashi close enough for their mouthes to find each other, he thought, maybe he did. 

_Everything_.

Hiro's spine was trembling, shivers, bordering vibrations. Tadashi pretended that he could hear a hum, the kind that came out of power sockets. Hiro's mouth was this perfect flush, taut enough for it to be demanding, soft enough for it to coax breaths out of lungs. Kissing him was like finding something you knew you could never live without. 

Hiro's fingers tightened their grip, and Tadashi could feel his T-shirt straining against his back. It was going to rip. Hiro would love that. Ripped up sex leftovers. 

But now, Hiro was trembling and small, and his heart was going jackrabbit-fast, and Tadashi knew he had to be careful. Hiro wasn't the type to just let someone treat them with caution. He demanded real hits, real pain. Everything had to be full-fledged. He hissed every time Tadashi took his hands and scattered kisses over his face, over his eyelids, and the peak of his angry-brows, beneath his chin, and the tip of his nose, and all over the curve of his cheeks that reminded him of red-plunged Jamie Dodgers. 

But right now, Hiro was letting him clutch him nice and warm, rub his hands over his skin, kiss him like his lips were barely there. 

This was Hiro with his jackrabbit-heartbeat. This was Hiro when he let himself spill over, gave into the touch of different hands. 

Tadashi let his fingers crawl up the back of his head, securing him there, pushing him closer towards his lips. Hiro's fingers pried their way out of Tadashi's sweater. They were gripping his hair, arms wrapped around his neck, so tight Tadashi couldn't breathe. 

And then the first whip of Hiro's hips, and the world went dynamite red. Kisses more frantic. Chests palpitating. Everything caught in the throes of something trembling. But the deep kind. Closer to the core. 

_ Thump. Thump. Thump.  _

Hiro's mouth opened wider, his tongue needy, and he let out these noises that weren't quite whines but weren't quite moans, either. This sticky in-between that made Tadashi lose his shit. And he was close to it. To losing it. 

Hiro's hips starting moving, spiraling lower, rubbing down into him where it was getting slicker by the second. Red hot heat.  Tadashi couldn't keep himself from panting, but everything was going too fast for him to breathe through his nose. 

Holding Hiro was like holding voltage. Everything inside of you twisted, pounded harder until you were droning in all the wrong places. 

Hiro's dick was throbbing. Tadashi could feel it straight through his skin where it spread out and fizzed around his abdomen. Fireworks right before they went boom. 

"Fuh - ck. Hah!" Hiro was letting things slip. Tadashi took them right out of his mouth with his teeth and his tongue. And then his hand started roaming, lifting Hiro from his body, letting him whine for a milli-second, tugging his boxers off and slamming him back down. Their skins jolted at the friction. Hiro was thick, the tip of him swollen and leaking pre-cum. Two little hick-ups from that perfect little mouth, and Tadashi couldn't tug his pants down fast enough. They were both aching for it, veins ready to burst, heads breaching. Hiro's hips gyrated, their dicks sliding dry. Hiro kept mumbling. 'Nude' or 'Mood' - or 'Lube'. Tadashi tilted their bodies to the side, his lips not capable of letting him go while his free hand batted over his bedside table. Everything clattered to the ground. Too horny to care. Hiro clawed his hand away, his own slamming all over the table. Hiro found the lube in no time. This was Tadashi's side of the room. Hiro wasn't supposed to be capable of finding the lube in no time.  

The liquid was cold, leaking down their tips in thick beads. 

"Shit - " Hiro gasped, when Tadashi took the two of them into his hands, fingers straining to grab everything. The lube went flying across the room. He was a hundred percent sure Hiro hadn't bothered with closing the lid. He never closed anything he used. Cupboards or half-empty cookie jars - or lube. He didn't give a shit about lube. Especially if it wasn't his. Which it wasn't. 

Hiro's fingers kept crawling over his body, digging their way into his scalp, scratching along the indents in his neck, pounding against his chest, clawing his shoulder blades like he was scraping wings onto his back. 

And then he stopped moving, and he ripped his lips free, and Tadashi's hand stopped working their slick into each other. 

Hiro smiled. It was just a spark in the left-hand corner of his mouth. Hiro never smiled like that. It was like the way moms smiled at their kids when they put them to sleep, the way people smiled at sunsets from the peak of mountain ranges or fireworks on the 4th of July, the way Charles Duke had probably smiled when he'd left the picture of his family on the moon. 

Hiro never smiled like that. But he was now.  

Hiro bit his lip, got it all smudged and swollen, and he lifted his arms up over his head. Tadashi kicked out a small smile, kissed the space between Hiro's collarbones before tugging his T-shirt up and over his outstretched arms. He was being extra careful like he was taking care of fine china or a child. 

Tadashi ripped him free from the rest of the material, that spark-smile coming back into view from under the hem. Tadashi kissed it. Tasted it. Sticky sweet. Perfect. His hands started to stray, and he let his fingers glide over the ranges of Hiro's bare chest. Hiro looked different without clothes on, stronger, bigger, firm and shaped, muscles curving around his shoulders, over his arms, across his chest. Hiro's body was all soft motion, thick breath. 

And when Hiro leaned into his mouth with a whimper, it was game over. Tadashi hurled the T-shirt away, hands back to clutching at the heat between their legs and the heart in Hiro's chest. 

Hiro's heart was a jackrabbit. 

Their room started filling itself up, expanding with the wet sloshing from below and their breaths and the creaks of the bed. Tadashi liked the creaks. But only when they did this. When they were nothing but roaming bodies. Creaking beds were like symphonies when you were in a rut. Hiro liked calling it a 'fuck-haze', said it made it sound dirty, more intense but smoother. 

This was a fuck-haze. And Hiro was pinning him tight between his thighs, caging him in, grinding, twisting, driving him insane. 

No escape. Tadashi was tethered. 

And he didn't know how that had happened, how he'd ended up being caught up in one single human being. He was supposed to be Hiro's guide. He wasn't supposed to be anything other than the friendly roommate who showed him around campus, told him how boarding schools were more than just cliches of kids in khakis and Rockerfeller trust funds, invited him to hang out with his friends, brought him to orientation for the sports teams, told him, 'Hey, welcome to the next few fantastic years of your life!'.But they hadn't made it that far. 

They'd ended up in the linen closet on the third floor of the girl's dormitory, shelves shoved against their spines, bedsheets falling onto their heads, the smell of laundry detergent mixing with muffled groans and sweat. Tadashi wasn't the type to just - do it. And they hadn't. Not really. Mostly, because he hadn't even expected Hiro to be _into guys._ Or anything really. Tadashi remembered asking Fred if they could switch, because the bushy-haired kid he was supposed to take care of was way too disinterested to deal with. Fred's roommate was awkward and paranoid. Tadashi knew how to deal with awkward and paranoid. But not lethargy. Not that Hiro was the lazy type. He was just the I-was-meant-to-other-things type. Like kissing guys. Like screwing their brains out. Like loving them to the moon.  Then telling them, 'Let's keep this platonic'.

Hiro was crazy. Tadashi was crazy for liking it. 

Because now they were here. Doing all this. And this was the opposite of 'keeping it platonic'. Not sleeping in separate beds for more than a year couldn't be called 'keeping it platonic', especially, when their hands were forever shoved down their pants. Their bedsheets were on the laundry list triple the average amount. 

Sex stains and kissing was not 'keeping it platonic'.

This couldn't be platonic. Tadashi wouldn't be able to stand the thought of this being platonic. 

He needed this. He needed tangled legs and twisted fingers, sweaty sheets and murmurs in the dead of the night, arms holding him tight when he had those bad dreams. He needed sticky notes plastered to their bathroom mirror, hearts and stupid reminders crackled onto the neon. He needed someone to slap his hands away when he tried to tie his own tie. He needed his ears to be tugged and mauled and whispered into when he couldn't finish his homework, tiny motivational speeches and dirty words. Hiro could say 'Male Reproductive System', and Tadashi's pants would pop like a firecracker. 

He needed this. All of this. 

And it was times like these where Tadashi would say yes and really, really mean it. Hiro was in his lap, pressed against his chest, stealing all the air out of his lungs, and his heat was pulsating, and his heart was thump-thump-thumping away.

And Tadashi wanted to scream, 'Yes!' 

Yes, to everything Hiro wanted from him. Yes, to this and this and _this_. Yes, to love me, hurt me, keep me until the end of time. 

Yes, to run away with me. 

That was Hiro's favorite.

_'Run away with me, Dashi. Let's get out of here.'_

That was Hiro's plan. He was going to run the second they graduated. It was his mantra. Breaking free. He wanted to travel to Europe or Asia, somewhere nobody spoke English, somewhere as far away from all of this down here. That's what he liked calling it. This. This place. This city. 

_'Down here.'_

Like they were a level below. Suburgatory or hell, maybe. Or the first floor of a monument. Or the first step of an empire. Or that tiny rock at the bottom of the Mount Everest. 

Tadashi wondered what Hiro would find up there. Peace? Savior? Something good? And he wanted Tadashi to come with him to find something good. But this was good already, right? This was good. 

Tadashi didn't know if this was good. He never asked himself that much. And every time he did, he tried picturing himself in an empty bed or in a crowd of people he didn't know, down here, alone, without him. Those thoughts made his brain colder, smothered his rib cage to nothing. 

Maybe liking something like this, like Hiro, wasn't supposed to be good. Because maybe you were more prepared like this. For whatever. Fora quick ending? For a 'I saw it coming anyways'?

Hiro wanted to take Tadashi with him. Tadashi wanted to let him. Hiro cold crack his heart on the way, scatter the pieces across the atlas lines. And there was this rush in his gut, this swoosh he only ever felt when he was standing in front of something he didn't know. Not knowing. The unknown. 

Constant free falls. 

Hiro could live like that. Tadashi didn't know how to. But this kid made him want to find out. Hiro made him want to stop thinking for once, to completely let go, to stop the structures, 'create some glitches for once, be a fucker for chaos', the way Hiro screamed into his face when he was in a cheap-thrills-mood. 

Hiro Hamada made him want to be crazy for once in his life. Legitimately crazy. INSANE. 

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shi - " Hiro's voice was climbing up a million octaves, going coarse and breathy at the top. Unhinged. Tadashi gripped them harder, their swollen heads slipping out from between his fast-paced fingers. Throbs and whips and slick slopes. Hiro's chest was heaving. Tadashi's chest had stopped moving altogether. He felt no need to breathe. He was too close to the fall anyways. Too close. So freaking close. 

"Ngh - " Feral. "Ye - Fast. Faster." Crazy. "Fu-uck." Hiro sounded like a mess. Tadashi loved it. 

"Shh," he pressed into Hiro's mouth. Hiro let out a whine, an angry one. He was probably shaming him in his head, getting ready to fling out every comeback he had once they were finished and sweaty and stupid. 

"Fuck you," Hiro hissed. An appetizer. Tadashi upped his pace. Hiro panted towards the roof, neck stretched wide, this pale expanse of skin that stained too easily. Tadashi bit into the tandems, tasting those sounds straight out of his skin. Their hips were going berserk, twitching and flipping out of orbit, losing rhythm. Hiro's heart was close to catapulting. Tadashi's heart was black-out still. 

Hiro came first. Guttural and bitten-down, trying his best muffle it in the crook of Tadashi's neck, teeth grinding against his skin. His hips twitched up and down and back and forth, slick and wet and staining Tadashi's T-shirt. 

Hiro's tongue on his neck shot him towards the moon. All he could hear was static and waves rushing, body caught in a tornado of a heartbeat. Hiro was kissing him through it, his mouth coaxing him out of a fever-pitch. Tadashi bit down into his lip. Hiro twitched once. But he let him bite harder. The air was too thick for him to calm down, too heady, way too heady. 

"One to - hah, crap...One to zero for Tadashi. Tadashi Matsuno" Because that's the only thing Tadashi could think of. His brain was cum-dumb. Nothing left. Just remnants of a fuck-haze, chaos in technicolor, violence in a ball pit.

Hiro shoved both of his hands into Tadashi's face, half of his fingers hitting his mouth. Tadashi could taste sweat and sex. 

"Just - shut this thing up," Hiro said, pressing his hands tighter against his mouth. Tadashi smiled as big as he could. Hiro flexed his fingers over it, let them roam like he was blind, reading his face like braille. 

Hiro's features went silent, and he was letting his eyes take over. Neon electric mixing with the first beams of sun that were splitting their curtains apart. Hiro like this, was glorious. Bare and blazing. 

Tadashi needed him. He was the kid who was supposed to break his head, scramble his brain. He was the kid with the jackrabbit-heart. He was the kid who made him say 'yes'.

Hiro like this, was something closer to everything. 

"Run away with me, get away from all this down here," Tadashi breathed. He hadn't even realized he'd said a word. But they were there now. His own words. Breaking free. Tadashi had never been the one to ask that kind of question. 

But he was now. 

Hiro pressed Tadashi's hand into the middle of his chest. Hiro smiled. It was just a spark in the left-hand corner of his mouth. Hiro never smiled like that. 

But he was now. 

 

 

❖  FIN  ❖

**Author's Note:**

> For those wondering, the boys attend the Mc'Poopilton's Academy for the Bright and Gifted in the buttcrack-outskirts of the San Fransokyo Suburgatory. The principal is the lovely Doctor Wanda Schmitzcrackfelder. I just thought that should be mentioned. Yes, I know I need to grow up. No, I'm not on crack. Just heroin.  
> Anyways, here's a hug! Go be your star-sprinkled spectacular self! <3


End file.
